
<|n S^cmoriam. 



DISCOURSE 



^EACIIErL IN 'WORCESTER, OCT. ^^ 1862, 




LIEUT. THOMAS JEFF&gON SPURE, 



J^iftMrtt^ P:asgac^«sttts Walxmtttts, 



Who, mortally wounded at the Battle of Anttetam, died in 
Hagerstown, Sept. 27th following. 



BY ALONZO HILL. 



PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 

BOSTON: 

PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 

5, Water Street. 

1862. 







Qass E^ 



Book. 



.5 

ISILJ4- 



Mix Mcmoriam. 



DISCOURSE 

PREACHED IN WORCESTER, OCT. 5, 1862, 

t ON 

LIEUT. THOMAS JEFFEESON SPURR, 



Who, mortally wounded at the Battle of Antietam, died in 
Hagerstown, Sept. 27th following. 



BY ALONZO HILL. 



rUBLISHED BV REQUEST. 

BOSTON: 

PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 

5, Water Street. 

1862. 



.// 



'01 



His soul to Him vvho gave it rose; 
God led him to its long repose, 

Its glorious rest: 
And though the warrior's sun has set, 
Its light shall linger round us yet, — 

Bright, radiant, blest. 

His life is bright; — bright without spot it was 
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour 
Knocks at his door the tidings of mishap. 
Far off is he, above desire and fear. 
Oh, 'tis well with him ! 



DISCOURSE. 



Titus ii. 14: — "Who gave himself fok us." 

When the late Lieut. Spurr — whose body, brought 
from the battle-field of Antietam, wrapped in his 
country's flag, we have just borne to our garden of 
graves — learned that his wounds were fatal, and felt 
the chill of death coming on, he expressed no dis- 
appointment and no regrets. He was fully aware, 
he said, when he gave himself to the cause of the 
Union, of the chances of war ; that many must 
fall ; that he had no right to claim exemption ; and 
that he might as well be the victim of sacrifice as 
any. And now, when all was over, and he could do 
no more, he uttered the hope, that the example of his 
devotion, and the inflii^ence of his early removal, 
would not be lost ; but that our young men, sharers 
of his own deepest thought, touched with sympathy, 
and warmed by the love they bore him, would be 



encouraged in all true and noble enterprises in serv- 
ing their country, their age, and their God. 

It is, my friends, with the desire of interpreting and 
giving emphatic utterance to the language which fell 
from his lips in that sublime hour, and in that dimly 
lighted chamber m which he died, that I have come 
this morning with the consecrated words of Scripture, 
than which I know of none more touching : " Who 
gave himself for us." They are expressive of the 
grandest act which one human being may do for 
another ; for no man can do more, or hath a sweeter 
death, than to lay down his life for his friends. 
They are great and noble words, and appeal to the 
very heart of humanity. They are upon the tongue 
that would eulogize ; they are written in Italics on 
the pages of books ; they are chiselled in marble : 
but applied to our Lord, and significant of his ex- 
alted, unselfish devotion, as they originally were, or to 
the young man, who yesterday, in the perfection of 
manly vigor, died for his country's sake, they are full 
of pathos and full of power : " He gave himself for 
us." 

But in men's mouths they have been strangely per- 
verted. They have been used to garnish the character 
of the mean, selfish, and sordid. They have been 



uttered over the graves of the worthless. Let us 
pause a moment, and analyze the spuit which they 
are intended to express. Let us comprehend its 
breadth and Hmitations. We shall then be able to 
conceive of the amount of labor, hardship, and self- 
oblivion, which it demands. 

I urge, then, that the spirit of devotion, implied 
in the act of giving one's self up for others, is very 
broad and comprehensive, and camiot be expressed 
by any narrow, superficial observance. It goes down 
into the very depths of the bosom ; it discards all 
shallow inconsistencies and pretences, and consecrates 
all the faculties and affections. Men vainly attempt 
to put it on when it is not in the heart. They try 
a poor counterfeit, and, for " old family diamonds, 
give you false ; and for gold rings, but brass." How 
many worthless claims to nobleness and disinterested 
love there are ! how many wretched imitations of 
the temper of the gospel, like the repetitions this day 
of that formal act, expressive of profound sympathy, 
tenderness, and goodness, which Clirist performed in 
Jerusalem ! He taught the dignity of servmg, by 
being himself the servant of all ; and to set forth and 
embody the true spirit of devotion, that wonderful 
Being, whom the winds and waves obeyed, and who 



6 

might summon to his aid twelve legions of angels, 
" took a towel and girt himself" like a menial, " and 
washed the disciples' feet." The elder Church of 
Christendom reads the lesson as one for all time. 
Worshipping the letter, she has preserved the form, 
but with how little of the sphit ! The pope and car- 
dinals, followers of the lowly One, who had not where 
to lay his head, observe the command to do as he 
had done, and, on set days, repeat the rite ; but 
they come forth from luxurious palaces in robes of 
state, and wash poor men's feet with pomp and show 
and in vessels of gold. In token of his affection, 
Jesus took men to his palpitating bosom ; went to 
their lowly habitations and wretched retreats ; and 
m tones of tenderness, and words of sympathy, and 
acts of love, relieved them. But how many imitate 
the outward deed, while they will not renounce a 
single indulgence, or deny themselves a single gratifi- 
cation ! They will stand, hke the old monks, at the 
convent gate, and dole out alms in the garb of men- 
dicants ; but, when the gate is closed, will retire to 
theii refectory, and spend the night in feasting and 
revelry. In a word, Jesus laid down his life for 
others ; and there were no inconsistencies nor sad 
failures in that life, but every act of it proclaimed 



his tender regard for their welfare, and his cheerful 
self-sacrifice for then' sake. He bore the cross, and 
bowed his sacred head upon it, and died ; and every 
step along the dolorous way, self-forgetful, he spoke 
words of comfort, and scattered blessings as he went. 
But how many mil bear pains as bitter as those of 
the cross, and give themselves for objects as selfish 
as ever touched the heart of man and turned it 
into stone ! For sordid gain, they will relinquish the 
endearments of home, breathe the tamted atmosphere 
and brave the perils of a distant clime ; for base plea- 
sures, they will renounce the life-long attachments of 
wife and children, and all that ennobles our exist- 
ence ; for the love of a brutal excitement, and the 
gratification of a hideous ambition, they will choose 
the tented field, plunge into the thickest of the fight, 
and revel amid slaughter and bloodshed, as if it were 
a joy. But, my hearers, what will all this avail, if, 
loose and unprincipled, they are false to their man- 
hood, and are a stumbhng-block to then' brethren, 
weak, tempted, and travelling, even as they are, on 
their dim, shadowy way ? They may be generous and 
public-spirited, impetuous and daring, the bravest of 
the brave : but if thek personal habits are adverse to 
goodness ; if they are coarse, brutal, and self-seek- 



8 

ing ; if they freely adopt the customs, at the table 
and in social life, which are an offence and a snare ; 
though they give their bodies to be burned, and half 
their goods to feed the poor, and die in the very front 
of the battle, — we cannot say of them, "They gave 
themselves for us." They have given themselves a 
sacrifice to their unhallowed pride, their low ambition, 
their selfish brutality ; and can have no place in a 
people's gratitude. They are mean men, and cannot 
be named with honors ; for so sacred a thmg in the 
eyes of Heaven is each man's individual trust, and 
the influence which he may exert, that, whatever else 
he may be and do, if he cast away his sceptre, and, 
by the falseness of his living, serve to tempt the weak 
and seduce them into sin, it were better for him that 
a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were 
drowned in the depth of the sea. 

No, my friends : call not him heroic or noble or 
self-sacrificmg, whatever his public service may be, 
who in private is self-seeking, self-indulgent, and dis- 
honest. Those great words are only for the sublime, 
disinterested spkit, which, renouncing all selfish con- 
siderations, contemplates with a profound faith things 
unseen, regards fidehty m the minutest as well as the 
largest trust above all things, and with prompt cheer- 



fulness lays the dearest object upon the altar of sacri- 
fice. It is the spirit which seems to envelop us as 
with a sacred atmosphere, when we reverently take 
into oui* hands the New Testament, and strive to 
comprehend the life and trace the footsteps of that 
marvellous Being whose history it contains. It is the 
sphit which artists have endeavored to embody in 
marble and on canvas, when they have chiselled or 
pamted that strangely expressive face, with its look 
of sweet trust, and its unsounded depths of love and 
majesty ; the same which they strove to express in 
the form and features of sainted heroes and martyrs, 
so calm and still, and full of a divine beaut}. It is 
the spirit which stirred the bosoms of the old knights 
m the ages of faith, when they chose, for instance, for 
the motto on the escutcheon of the fierce house of 
Douglass, " Tender, but true ; " or for that on the 
crest of England's crown, " Shame to him who thinks 
evil ! " — the same which moved over the souls of the 
Sidneys and the Hampdens and the RusseUs, — men 
of so noble a nature, so unselfish, so chivalric, so 
thoroughly good, that, when they passed away, it was 
felt that a sudden eclipse had come on ; and the 
whole land gave itself to mourning amid the excla- 
mations, " We shall never see theii- like again." It 



10 

is the spirit which animated the grim old warrior, 
Frederic I. of Prussia. It was reported to him, in 
the midst of the battle's fray, " Your son is killed ! " 
" Woe is me ! " he cried. " My son is slain ; but 
Christ lives. On, my men ! " placing principle high 
above every personal consideration, fidelity to duty 
above all present peace ; — the same, more than all, 
which consecrated the life and hallows the repose of 
the hero who sleeps on the banks of the Potomac, 
and whose sacred repose is invaded by the awful sounds 
of conflicting armies. A noiseless influence goes from 
that tomb, mightier than the din of battle, and more 
moving than the eloquence of senates. Yes, it was 
well that the great fight of freedom should be fought, 
and the work which he began should be completed, on 
the spot so dear to his great heart, where his awful and 
majestic form, as it used to appear to our fathers in 
the smoke of the battle, shall seem again to arise, 
and check every emotion of unhallowed ambition, 
and breathe constancy and courage into the bosoms 
of our brave young defenders, who, taught at their 
mothers' knee to revere his memory, can do nothing 
inconsistent with that trust in God, that personal puri- 
ty, that love of liberty, and that supreme devotion to 
country, which won for him his victory. He gave 



11 

himself for us ; and that is the reason why he will 
remam among us, a living power, as long as the na- 
tion shall stand. 

I have dwelt, my friends, upon these thoughts, 
because it seems to me I discern in oiu- people a 
disposition to honor men who are unworthy of honor, 
and to reward men with a nation's confidence who 
seek power only for its OAvn sake, court military glory 
for the distinction which it confers, hold office for 
its emoluments, and accumulate trusts that they may 
the more easily betray them. God save us, in this 
great hour of the country's peril, from the folly of 
committing its life to the keepmg of those who are 
faithless to others, and are not true to themselves! 
I Imger on this train of thought, because I would 
bring before you, m illustration, the noble young man 
who is in all our hearts to-day, and show you what a 
great thing he did — none greater on this earth — 
when he gave himself for us. I feel that he has a 
claim on our especial mention here, because he was 
a child of this parish, — honored, loved, and mourned ; 
and affords a beautiful example of that self-sacrifi- 
cing devotion which it is our prayer to God may be 
formed, and which it is our labor, day by day, to form, 
in the heart of this community. 



12 

Thomas Jefferson Spiirr — a grandson of Gen. John 
Spurr, and Dr. Dan Lamb, of Charlton, once widely 
known hi the south part of this county, the son of the 
late Col. Samuel D. Spurr — was born in this city, 
Feb. 2, 1838; consequently, had reached only the 
immature age of twenty-four years. Early left an 
orphan by the death of his father, he was committed 
to the sole care of his mother. As we grow older, 
the years come and go with ever-hastening step ; and 
to my vision it seems but yesterday, when, a little boy, 
he was led by her hand to this, our religious home, 
to begin that course of Christian trainmg, without 
which all other influences are worthless. Then I have 
the picture of a youth, true to his early promise, con- 
stant in his attendance on the Sunday school, the Bible 
class, and the services of the Church ; always carrying 
with him that look of seriousness and earnest thought 
which we are wont to ascribe to those whom God has 
chosen. I think of him as he appeared in the suc- 
cessive grades of your public schools ; careful and 
painstaking in his studies, always foremost among his 
companions, gentle and affectionate in his ways. Then 
I think of him as passing on to our neighboring Univer- 
sity ; simple and unaffected in his manners, genial in 
his dispositions, warm in his attachments, and winning 



13 

troops of friends, but never for an instant diverted 
from the one great object of liis ambition; never for- 
saking bis early habits ; term by term, pursuing a course 
of quiet industry, and securing distinguished success 
among his fellows. In the freshman year of his 
college life, he was one of the leading scholars of 
his class ; and with his good classical attainments, his 
decided mathematical tastes, might confidently have 
anticipated the largest share of college honors. 

But, in the midst of his successes and anticipations, 
he was interrupted by one of the sorest visitations that 
can befall the young student, — an affection of the 
eyes, which compelled him to close his books, and 
retire from his college associations. He repaired to 
the country. He made a voyage to Fayal, that beau- 
tiful island of the Azores ; and found rest and refresh- 
ment amid its tropical luxuriance and delightful 
friendships, always so readily proffered to the sick 
stranger there. He returned improved, but not re- 
stored. He went back to his college studies, but not 
with his first fresh hope ; for, during his absence, his 
class had left him behind, and he must now grope 
his tangled and matted way by means of eyes not his 
own. He was compelled to employ a reader. He 
was thrown behmd his companions in the career of 



14 

competition ; but not behind the foremost in the no- 
ble simphcity of his character, the patient bearing of 
his trial, his cheerful acquiescence, and unfaltering 
resolution to do what he could. He took his degree 
at the University in Cambridge in 1858 ; and, as a 
proof of the estimation in which he was held by his 
associates, I need only say, that he was elected a mem- 
ber of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, the chief literary 
association of the institution, admission to which is 
the object of the young student's great ambition, and 
whose honors are bestowed as a mark of distinction 
on leading scholars : but, with a tenderness and gene- 
rosity most creditable to those concerned, he was 
chosen, not for what he was, but for what he would 
have been, except for the heavy calamity which had 
befallen him, and which, m one of less stubborn will, 
would have closed, without a struggle, all the ave- 
nues to literary and professional success. On leavhig 
college, Thomas entered the Law School at Cambridge, 
and afterwards the law-office of the Hon. George 
Frisbie Hoar of this city ; always laboring under a 
sense of disadvantage from his infirmity, but uncom- 
plaining, cheerfully bearing, and resolved, as others 
had done before him, to conquer success, though m 
the face of difficulties all but hisurmountable. 



15 

But Providence was guiding ; and another career 
was opening, in which, not soundness of sight, but 
health of body, firmness of mind, energy, self-x30sses- 
sion, courage, and nobleness, alone are indispensable. 
In the spring of the last year, he closed again his 
studies, and sailed, witl; a young friend and relative, 
for Russia ; returning through Germany, England, and 
France. It was there, on the shores of the Baltic, 
amid scenes so novel, strange, and absorbing, that he 
first heard the tidings of the great revolt which has 
thrown its dark shadow over a prospered and happy 
land ; and, from that moment, I can well conceive of 
the stir and tumult of his bosom. An awful calamity 
had come to his country, and he in ease and safety, 
and amid the fascinations of a foreign city ! slie, the 
kind mother of us all, in peril, — she, at whose gentle 
bosom he had been nurtured, and under whose ten- 
der nursing he had received all that makes life on 
earth a blessmg, — and he not there to strike for her a 
blow ! I have looked upon our dear land from afar, 
from mid-ocean and from foreign shores, where speech 
is restrained by tyrant power, and the very ah is op- 
pressive and stiflmg ; and I know what heart-yearnings 
he must have felt, how the wdnds must have seemed 
to linger that were to waft him over, and the days to 



16 

be tardy in their coming that should see him once 
more in his now troubled home. 

At length, he arrived. But for him, as for thousands 
of our noblest and best young men, the choicest of our 
youth, the very hope of oiu: country, there was no rest. 
Thomas sought and received a commission of fost 
lieutenant in the Fifteenth Regiment of Massachusetts 
Volunteers, at the commencement of the present year, 
— a year so eventful to the country, so tragical to him. 
He was now to ghd on the sword and haversack, and 
enter scenes where separation, hardship, exposure, 
and danger from sickness and wounds, would grow 
familiar ; and how much it must have cost him to 
sever again ties so intimate and tender as those which 
bound him to his home ! But when he once felt the 
burthen of duty laid upon him ; when his ear had 
once caught the soul-enkindling words, " Leave father 
and mother " and the endearments of home for freedom 
and country and Christ's sake, — he was not one to lin- 
ger ; and when I saw him, on the eve of his departure, 
turn from his heart's treasure to encounter the great 
unknown of his future lot, he seemed to me as one, who, 
havmg conquered in the mward strife, had thrown off 
all misgivings and fears, and was now going, under the 
influence of a noble inspiration, to fight the battles of 



17 

freedom and humanity, — going under the shelter of a 
protecting Providence, and ready to accept, with equal 
cheerfuhiess, whatever that Providence for him and for 
his might send. He seemed to dwell apart in his 
thought from the great crowd, and commune with the 
sphitual and unseen, to walk in close companionship 
with sainted heroes, to hve in distant ages, and to hear 
the voices of approval and holy cheer from those whom 
his self-sacrificing devotion would bless ; and he stood 
before us as one transfigured, in manly beauty, and with 
an almost visible glory around his head. 

Lieut. Spurr immediately joined his regiment on the 
Potomac, and earnestly applied himself to the strange 
tasks that were before him, — tasks we little know 
how formidable, until we remember his rare con- 
scientiousness and his severe interpretation of duty. 
He was fresh from the scenes of civil life, — the home, 
the office, and the leisure of travel, — and was placed 
over men who had stood in the face of battle, and 
grown familiar with the details of the soldier's work. 
Besides, his senior officer, from whom he might have 
received help, was away ; and alone, performmg a 
double service, he encountered every embarrassment 
of his untried post. And much is it to then- honor as 
well as his to be able to say, that, m a very difficult 



18 

position, — a position in which subordinates jealously 
watch and readily censure, — he acquitted himself with 
such skill and tact, that he overcame every obstacle, 
and not only secured the respect, but won the affec- 
tionate attachment, of his men. " He was universally 
beloved," is the unvarying testimony of his companions 
in arms. " We loved him as a brother." " All of us 
were in tears who stood around the spot where he lay 
in his agonies." Nor is it difficult to understand why 
they loved him so well. He loved them, and gave 
himself for them. He devoted himself unreservedly 
to his duties as a soldier, and to the welfare of the 
men of his command. He was asked if he were ac- 
quainted with the officers of another regiment ? He 
repHed, " A soldier who does his duty has no time to 
make acquaintance." His own, the war-worn Fif- 
teenth, a part though it Avas of the consecrated host 
enrolled for the country's redemption, was his especial 
trust. They saw and bare witness to the disinterested- 
ness and fidelity of his service ; how true and manly 
and devoted he was ; how he bore them on his heart, 
spared them as he was able, shared in their toils, and 
spoke words of encouragement. For he loved them 
with that intensity of affection which only they know 
who have encountered common perils and borne com- 



19 

mon suiFerings together. They had participated in the 
discomforts of the camp m the swamps of the Chicka- 
hommy, had kept picket-guard, and stood before the 
enemy at Fair Oaks and Savage's Station. They had 
moved side by side in the seven-days' retreat, fighting 
from dawn to evening twilight, marching from twilight 
again till dawn ; and well might they speak kindly and 
gently and with honest pride of then young Lieutenant, 
so refined, so soldierly in his bearing, and so quick in 
his sympathies. For, I repeat, he was loving and ten- 
der, and brave and heroic. At the close of the weari- 
some retreat, when one more blow was to be struck, 
and his command were summoned to Malvern Hill, and 
he was too sick to lead them, I am told by his chaplain 
that he was altogether unmanned, when, left behind, 
he saw them going up to the post of danger, and he 
could not be there to share it with them. When he 
had received the fatal wound of which he died, his 
sole thoughts were of his officers and men. They 
rushed to carry him from the field ; but the enemy 
pressed. " Do not stay for me," he cried in that 
awful moment ; " take care of yourselves : " and in 
the next instant he was a prisoner. Found again, two 
days after, by a party of skirmishers, his first words 
were, " For God's sake, send a surgeon here at once, 



20 

not for my sake, but for the sake of these poor men, 
who are suffermg terribly." In his troubled sleep, he 
would seem to be issuing orders for their comfort and 
refreshment : and, in his waking hours, he said, " he 
hoped his company would be satisfied with him, and 
that he had earned their confidence ; for he was not 
conscious of having a single thought of himself after 
the fii'st volley was fired." No: not of yourself did 
you think, young hero, brave soldier, soldier also of 
the cross, in that agonizing hour, but of the absorb- 
ing cause, and of the men by whom, under God, you 
were to win it. 

But I hasten on. The 17th of September will be 
marked as a dark day in our New-England history, like 
the "sorrowful night" in Mexican story; for, on that 
day, whole platoons of our troops were cut down, and 
the brave and beautiful fell in their high places. The 
regiment to which Lieut. Spurr was attached had been 
removed from the James River, with the division under 
Gen. Sedgwick, to the Heights of Maryland ; and were 
drawn out in the field of battle, occupying the fore- 
most line, and exposed to the deadliest fire of the half- 
concealed enemy. They stood upon a rismg ground, 
not fiir from the rail fence which enclosed the field of 
standing corn, henceforth to be familiar to our Ameri- 



21 

can youth, as the rye-fields of Waterloo are to those of 
England ; and about nine o'clock in the morning came 
that volley all along the opposing army which has sent 
such anguish into so many of our New-England homes. 
Our young friend was standing a Httle in advance of 
his company, engaged in forming the broken front ; and 
there received his fatal wound, and fell where he stood. 
Almost in an instant, there was confusion, — the rush 
of the enemy and a short retreat, — and he was left to 
then' tender mercies, bleeding on the ground, while 
the battle all day raged around. But, in the midst of 
common sufferings, how speedily are foes changed into 
friends ! But a moment ago, they were in opposing 
ranks, sendmg at each other the missiles of death, 
attended with smoke and carnage ; but now the 
heart of humanity is touched, and they gather around 
the wounded soldier. Among them are the familiar 
countenances of those who studied with him in the 
halls of college, bearing no longer the grim visage of 
w^ar. They speak to him words of sympathy ; they 
place to his fevered lips cooling drinks ; they remove 
him from the heat of the sun to the shade of a tree ; 
they shelter him from the cold night air with their 
blankets. Those Avho were present tell of the awful 
stillness which followed that day of terrors. I am 



22 

sure, if, during these weary hours of suffering for 
him, of rest for man and for beast, he had intervals 
of consciousness, he would be reminded by those 
kmdly faces, and the silent stars that were looking so 
tranquilly down, that there was an eye of infinite 
compassion fijced upon him, and the arms of infinite 
tenderness stretched over him. God was there. He 
had done a soldier's duty, and God's peace was his. 

The battle was on Wednesday. Two days after (on 
Friday), he was seen, by a party of skirmishers of the 
New- York Thkty-first, — having been removed from 
the spot where he fell, — lying on a bed of straw, m a 
yard a few rods distant, in the midst of a host of 
wounded fellow-soldiers of both armies. On Satur- 
day (the next day), he was found by friends who had 
been sent in search of him. His wounds were 
dressed, and he was carried two or three miles to a 
large Union hospital. On Monday, he was removed 
agam, by the aid of the mayor of our city, to Hagers- 
town, the distance of some twelve miles from the 
field of battle ; where, at the private residence of one 
of its citizens, kindly thrown open to him, he received 
all the aid and solace which unbomided Christian 
sympathy and the best medical skill could bestow. 

Thither his own family — through a series of events 
LofC. 



23 

which seem providential, and which they can never 
cease to remember with heartfelt gratitude — were 
conducted, on Wednesday evening, to the house 
where the sufferer lay; and there, with powers un- 
impahed, the memory clear and exact, and a con- 
sciousness of duty done, and well done, with mtense 
affections gushmg out from his lips and a look of in- 
effable sweetness on his countenance, he was spared 
to them two days longer. 

It would be invading the sanctity of private grief, 
if I were to relate to you all that was said and done 
in these sacred hours. One who was present has told 
me that he never witnessed such scenes of composure, 
such tenderness of love, such serene trust, such readi- 
ness to go. As he has recalled cu-cumstance after 
cuxumstance, I have been reminded of those aores, 
when faith, if not more real, awakened more enthu- 
siasm, and found vent in more vivid expression, than it 
now does, — those great times, when the martyr, gaz- 
ing upward, seemed to see the heavens opened, and 
samted forms bending over, and smiling, and beckoning 
him to come. I am reminded of the death-scenes of 
the hero of Lucknow, — all calm and buoyant and 
cheerful in his lonely tent, while the soimds of the 
cannon were still heard in the distance, — worn with 



24 

sicknesses and the waste of war, and yet exulting in 
the exuberance of his kmdred and home affections 
and the thoughts of heaven, exclaimmg with his 
last breath, " Now I am ready." Oiu: dear young 
friend, though he had just come from the battle's 
strife, had brought with him no earthly passion, no 
bitterness towards those who had taken his young 
life, but forgiveness and gratitude instead for those 
who had pitied and succored him in his great distress. 
He spoke of heaven as familiar to his thoughts, and 
of one who is an angel there. He spoke of the mo- 
tives which had prompted him to give himself to the 
service of his country. He spoke as a soldier, and 
thanked God, that, though a few hours a wounded 
prisoner, he was spared the humiliation of delivering 
his sword into the hands of her enemies. It had been 
struck from his grasp, and it was only the empty scab- 
bard which they bore away as a trophy. He spoke as 
a son, a brother, and friend. He remembered all, 
he forgot none ; and when he had said and done 
all, as if conscious that his hours were numbered, just 
before the dawn of a new day, his last on earth, he 
asked her, who sat by the dying bed of her son, to join 
him in one more prayer before he should go. He 
offered a prayer, which they who heard can never for- 



25 

get. It was the last breathing of affection for those 
nearest and dearest, — the utterance of the heart's 
gratitude for the presence of kind physicians and 
friends who had soothed his hours of terrible anguish, 
and especially of her who had been kindest and ten- 
derest. For, my hearers, there is one image which 
years and leagues and the rough usages of the camp 
can never erase from the memory ; there is one name 
which the New-England soldier, in his sicknesses, 
womids, loneliness, and desertion, takes upon his lips, 
— the same image on which Jesus gazed from the 
bitter cross, the same name which he uttered with his 
dying breath. At nine o'clock on Saturday morning, 
the eleventh day after the battle, it was perceived that 
Thomas's strength was faihng ; that he was fast pass- 
ing away. He fixed his eyes in one last gaze on a 
familiar countenance ; he spoke in tones of cheer ; 
he uttered the word " Mother ! " he crossed his 
hands upon his bosom, and fell asleep. 

And so he gave himself for us, that you and I 
might enjoy the pleasant heritage which our fathers 
left us, and that we might transmit the venerable 
institutions which are the life of our life to our 
children's children. He offered himself, that he might 
avert the nation's last dread calamity, and that there 

4 



26 

might still be hope for man. He laid himself down 
on the altar of sacrifice for oiu' sakes, and has gone 
as a milk-white lamb without blemish and garlanded. 
He has gone to join the crowd of young Christian 
heroes who have won their battles, and already wear 
the crown. He has gone to swell the roll of mar- 
tyrs offered by our venerable University ; to join Pea- 
body and D wight, his predecessors by a few years ; 
Putnam, with whom he studied ; and Lowell, his class- 
mate and friend. He has gone to join the saintly 
company, the pure, the gentle, the devoted of all ages 
and climes, the companions of his youth, and the in- 
timates of his maturer years. 

And, if he has given himself for us, shall we not 
give ourselves for one another ] Alas for us, if, with 
these rich examples of Christian fidelity before us, we 
can forget our high calling, forego a noble enthusi- 
asm, and give ourselves to an all-absorbing selfish- 
ness ! Better a thousand times suffer privations and 
hardships, wounds and imprisonments, and the car- 
nage of the battle-field, than be guilty of one hour's 
unfaithfulness to duty, and one act of disloyalty 
to country and to God. For how stands the case? 
What is the lesson of religion 1 " Greater love hath 
no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his 



27 

friends." To be able to do this is the principal thing. 
It is the triumph of inward might over outward vicis- 
situde ; the victory of faith over the soul's instinctive 
apprehensions, the pains of the body, and the bitter- 
ness of death. It is a transformation of feebleness 
into strength; and a lifting-up of the creatures of 
earth, even while the clod clings to them, into those 
regions where angelic natui'es dwell, and the mini- 
stries of love and the bhss of heroic devotion are 
complete. 



29 



APPENDIX. 



FUNERAL. 

The body of Lieut. Spurr accompanied the family on their 
return to New England, under the especial charge of Isaiah, 
a faithful body-servant, who had been in his employ from 
the beginning of the campaign. He was a freeman of color, 
born among slaves, of more than common intelligence, de- 
votedly attached to his young master, who, he said, " had 
been mighty good to him." He had waited in his tent, fol- 
lowed him in his marches, and hung around the field in all 
his battles. He was of the party that bore him from 
within the enemy's lines ; the others being Dr. Haven, 
and Capt. Baldwin and Lieut. Washburn of Gen. Devens's 
staff. He stood by his bed in all his hours of terrible suf- 
fering, and ministered to his wants. The remains were 
buried on Thursday, Oct. 2, from the residence of his 
brother-in-law, Hon. Mr. Hoar. Although it was in the 
midst of the severest autumn storm, the house was thronged; 
and, while the heavens were weeping as in sympathy, none 
were unaffected. Not least touching was the spectacle of 
the humble friend, who stood like a bronze statue beside 
the coffin through the whole service, while the tears silent- 
ly stole down his cheeks. Set to guard the sacred relics, 
he did not leave them, from the hour of quitting Hagers- 
town, until they were deposited in the place of their rest, — 
the beautiful cemetery in Worcester. In order to complete 



30 



the picture, it may be added, that the coffin was decorated 
with the folds of the American flag ; while there rested on 
it a large cross, made of fresh flowers, — the cherished gift 
of young companions of happier days, — the emblem of that 
sustaining faith, without which such scenes of agonizing 
grief could never be borne. 



LETTERS. 



The following extracts of letters will serve more than 
to confirm the statements made in the body of the dis- 
course : — 

From Brig. -Gen. Devens. 

WiLLIAMSPORT, Md., Sept. 23. 
Our dear Tom Spurr is very dangerously wounded. Yesterday, 
I went over to Hagerstown (nine miles from here) with the medi- 
cal director of the division, Dr. O'Leary. Tom had just been 
brought there. He has been examined by the doctor, Avho thinks 
our dear boy has a chance, but only a chance, to live ; but that he 
will survive a week or two. He is calm and courageous. He 
said nothing ; but I think his situation is fully understood by him. 
The wound is in the upper part of the thigh. Amputation would 
be useless. God grant that the dear fellow may go through in 
safety ! for he is brave as he is tender and affectionate. 

C. D., Jr. 



From Lieid.-Col. Kimhall. 

Head-quarters Fifteenth Reg. Mass. Vol., 
Warrenton, Va,, Nov. 18, 1862. 
The death of Lieut. Spurr was a sad blow to the regiment. 
His place cannot be filled. He came among us a stranger to us 



31 



all ; but by his manly traits of character, his kind, noble, and gene- 
rous nature, he Avon the esteem of all, — officers and men. He 
was ever faithful to his trust ; and his courage and bearing were 
undoubted. 

His memory will be most dearly cherished by his comrades ; and 
they will always point with pride to his private virtues and his 
military career, as such as it would be alike honorable and manly 
to follow. 

His noble bearing on the battle-field of Antietam, where he 

refused to be carried to the rear when mortally wounded, was 

worthy of the man, the hero, he was, and won the praise of all his 

companions. 

J. W. Kimball, Lieut.-Gol. Commanding. 



From Dr. Haven, Surgeon Fifteenth Massachusetts Volunteers. 

Bolivar Heights, Oct. 10, 1862. 

Being, as I am, the only one in the regiment with whom his 
acquaintance dates back from boyhood, and he holding the same 
relation towards me, a double tie brought us together. 

Were private friendship, even, set aside, I should still feel a 
strong desire to express my great admiration for his many virtues, 
his earnest devotion, and his manly fortitude ; for a character 
developed by the events of the last year, of which you may well 
be proud. Joining the regiment, as he did, at a time when the 
opposition to strangers was strong ; when much was to be learned ; 
when the duties of every officer were severe ; and when, in addi- 
tion, the entire management of the company was thrown upon him, 
— it is no small meed of praise to say that he overcame all these 
obstacles, and that no one in the regiment was more esteemed and 
respected by the men and his brother-officers. 

At the battle of Fair Oaks, I chanced to be in close proximity 
to him during the severest of the engagement, and can bear per- 



32 



sonal testimony to his cool bearing and undaunted courage. It 
will never cease to be a source of regret to me, that chance did not 
place me near him at the moment when struck by the fatal bullet ; 
for although the result could hardly have been different, and 
although all efforts at immediate removal might have been unavail- 
ing, yet at least the attempt Avould have been made. It grieved me 
much, too, that military duty forbade my accompanying Thomas 
away from the hospital, even as far as the nearest city ; though I 
felt grateful for the opportunity afforded to be Avith him, more or 
less, during several days, and to do that little which my office and 
the circumstances allowed. 

I have been expressing only my own private feelings. The 
frequent scenes of suffering and death, and the constant necessity 
for action, naturally blunt, for a time, the sensibilities of the soldier ; 
but, in the season of rest, the better feelings return. Among those 
who remain of this crippled regiment, the memory of Thomas, 
brave and faithful, will ever be hallowed. It cannot be unAvelcome 
to you to know how much we all feel our great loss ; how many 
of us are conscious that we could better have been spared; and how 
deeply all sympathize with you in your severe affliction. 

S. Foster Haven, Jr. 



From Dr. Sargent., of this city, who kindly accompanied the family 
to Sagerstown, and was present to the close. 

Worcester, Thursday Morning, Nov. 20, 1862. 
I shall consider myself as more than compensated for any sacri- 
fice I have made, by the elevating and purifying influence of that 
death-bed, — the death of the Christian patriot, of the excellent 
son and brother, Avhose translation in the clearness of his intellect, 
and even the fulness of wisdom, was such as I never before wit- 
nessed. Joseph Sargent. 



LB N '10 



